River

Originally posted on Coffee and Irony:

river sarah breese

rt Sarah Breese

“So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.”

– F. Scott Fitzgerald

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Poem: No System for Grief

You were in the world and. More
slowly now I am

so fasted now so. Long
it’s been without
you, if you ever read this
you were what. I was dreaming of

this welt, to know
it before. It comes like love
I loved your

empty spaces,

read more at Linebreak

Kimberly Grey

Checkpoint, Matveyev Kurgan

When her sister moved across the border

there was no border, not even a line

like the one they’d drawn in chalk

down the centre of their bedroom,

dividing walls and window, the light

parsed out between them

like a parent’s love. Only the door,

its point of entry and exit, was shared.

read more
Marjorie Lotfi Gill, Cura Mag

Ghazal for Unforgetting

What was it he needed to read? There was a book on one
of the shelves. He only remembered the cover was green.

88 keys, 11 octaves. After daily exercises,
the lid came down on a felt runner of green.

The first year is paper, the eighth bronze, the twelfth
silk or linen; the sixteenth, a candlestick silvery-green.

What trees grew in front of our first house? One
shed only flame-colored leaves, the other green.

One arrow struck the girl, the other struck the god. He pursued her,
even as her feet grew roots, her arms leafed over with green.

Near the water, there used to be a house of quarantine. On a short
stretch of road, broken shells in the gravel amid tufts of green.

Should your mind quietly open that side door and leave, what
will you remember of us, of our days greener than green?

-Luisa A Igloria, Via Negativa

Anne and Gilbert – “Falling Slowly”

In memory of Jonathan Crombie, here’s an absolutely lovely video from Sullivan Entertainment, the production company behind the much-loved miniseries adaptation of the Anne of Green Gables books.

Oh, and if you haven’t seen it, you must watch Green Gables Fables, especially the final episode of the first season, which I highlighted in my Literary Web Series Roundup

Poetry: I Tell You

I could not predict the fullness
of the day. How it was enough
to stand alone without help
in the green yard at dawn.

How two geese would spin out
of the ochre sun opening my spine,
curling my head up to the sky
in an arc I took for granted.

And the lilac bush by the red
brick wall flooding the air
with its purple weight of beauty?
How it made my body swoon,

brought my arms to reach for it
without even thinking.

read more

-Susan Glassmeyer

Design Love: Minimalism with Mjölk

Mjölk is a design gallery featuring work from Scandinavia and Japan, located in Toronto, Canada. Mjölk (which means “milk” and is pronounced Mi-yelk) is the branchild of curators John Baker and Juli Daoust, who strive for an aesthetic that is “pure, honest, and essential.”

I completely adore the stripped-clean minimalism of their pieces, with the beautiful lines and calming focus on functionality and ease of use.

HansWegnerrockingchair

Here is what they say about their store:

“Mjölk is both a gallery who exhibits work by both arists and artisans from Scandianvia and Japan, and also a lifestyle store; we look to our everyday life to find inspiration for the products we carry. Our smaller products can be used without thought, or quietly admired. In our eyes just the simple satisfaction of functionality and durability, is all you need for a successful product, but when you can derive beauty from the uttermost simplistic tools, then you have something special.”

kiltopenbookcaseNarachairShinAzumi

hiroshima-lounge-ottoman_1

Website|Tumblr|Twitter

Secret Garden Webseries Introduces Dickon!!

As your resident webseries lover, it is my duty to inform you that The Misselthwaite Archives, which has been pleasant but mostly uninspired so far, finally introduced Declan Sower, based on Dickon of the book, and there are sparks and cuteness.

Poetry: Sunset Park

The Chinese truck driver
throws the rope
like a lasso, with a practiced flick,

over the load:
where it hovers an instant,
then arcs like a willow

into the waiting,
gloved hand
of his brother.

What does it matter
that, sitting in traffic,
I glanced out the window

and found them that way?
So lean and sleek-muscled
in their sweat-stiffened t-shirts:

offloading the pallets
just so they can load up
again in the morning,

and so on,
and so forth
forever like that—

like Sisyphus
I might tell them
if I spoke Mandarin,

or had a Marlboro to offer,
or thought for a minute
they’d believe it

when I say that I know
how it feels
to break your own

back for a living.

read more

Patrick Phillips

LANA DEL REY INTERVENES WHEN SHE NOTICES I’VE STOPPED WRITING ABOUT MY EX

It’s good that he’s gone,
but don’t let him be too gone.
He’s got to be candle blown out
in the other room gone.
Or exhaust pipe
huffing down the block gone.
Not closure-gone. Not someone-else’s-
baby-gone. Not cut your hair gone.
He can’t ever be too far
away to hurt you, honey.
You can pedal away but make sure it’s a polaroid
of him clicking in your bicycle wheel down the boulevard.
Put a suitcase in a trunk and every state in between you
if you want, but when you turn on the radio,
search for his song.
Don’t get me wrong, you can love.
Megan Falley
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